


To walk is to lack a place.

by CaremKefo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s08e23 Sacrifice, Fallen Castiel, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:53:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaremKefo/pseuds/CaremKefo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Castiel woke up in the woods and witnessed his brothers and sisters falling, he began to walk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To walk is to lack a place.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is taken from a Michel de Certeau quote.

Cas stood at the edge of the trees all night, watching his brothers and sisters fall. When the first broken beams of light filtered through the trees as the sun began to rise, and the last angel had fallen more than half an hour ago, Castiel started to walk.

He was lost, and alone. He didn’t have his phone, and nothing around him looked familiar; at least not at first. Eventually he reached the outskirts of a town, and continued past the brightly coloured sign that read, _Welcome to Pontiac!_

Pontiac, Illinois. Of course he’d be here. He always ended up here. No matter what happened to Castiel, Jimmy always found his way home, he remarked sadly. But of course, Jimmy isn’t there, now. Jimmy moved on a long time ago. Nevertheless, Castiel remembers things that he never knew. Like the taste of apple tarts dusted with cinnamon baked fresh in the morning in the bakery on the corner. Like the dog that would bark and whine from the moment its owner tied it up outside the post office every Tuesday until the moment its owner reappeared. Like the fact it would take him exactly seven minutes to walk home from where he now stood. To walk to Jimmy’s home.

It seemed like the most logical place to go, for it would take him eight and a half days to walk to the bunker if he didn’t stop. But then he was human, now, and would need to stop – need to stop to do trivial human things, like eat and sleep and urinate. He had watched humanity for so long – millennia – and yet his five years on Earth with Dean had only proved how little he actually knew about them. He had no idea how to _be_ human.

He came to an abrupt stop outside Jimmy Novak’s house. Seven minutes would be an eternity to an angel, but to a human isn’t long enough to finish a single thought.

The porch steps creaked underfoot as he approached the front door, wondering if Amelia Novak still lived there or if she’d taken little Claire and run away leaving Pontiac and the memories of her husband and angels and demons behind them. He rang the doorbell, as Jimmy had done so long ago, and a moment later Claire answered the door. He stared at her, surprised at how much she’d grown in just a few years.

"Daddy?" she asked hopefully.

He looked sadly at her, and shook his head.

"Castiel," she stated, just as her mother appeared behind her.

"You should leave," Amelia told him icily. "We’ve moved on."

"I…" Castiel said, surprised that he found it hard to speak. He was struck with a strange urge to cry, but he didn’t understand why. He coughed, and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "I was wondering if I may be permitted to use your telephone. Please."

Amelia just stared at him.

"Mom," Claire prompted, dragging the word out over two syllables.

"You have two minutes," Amelia conceded reluctantly, stepping aside to let him in.

"Thank you," Castiel nodded gratefully.

Claire willingly showed him how the telephone worked, under the cold supervision of Amelia, and Castiel typed in Dean’s number from memory.

Dean answered after two rings. "Hello?"

"Dean," he sighed in relief.

"Cas? Where the hell are you, man?"

"Pontiac—"

"—Illinois," Dean finished. "Jeez, man. It’ll take me a while to drive out there."

"How is Sam?" Castiel asked.

"He’s… been better. But yeah, he’s doing okay. What— What about you?" Dean asked thickly. "How are you holding up?"

"I’ve been better," Castiel said grimly.

Amelia tapped him on the shoulder, and when he turned around tapped her finger against her watch.

"Dean, I have to go."

"Where are you staying?"

"I don’t know."

"Where are you calling from?"

"Jimmy’s house. But I have to leave, now."

"No!" Claire shouted at her mom. "We have to help him."

"You know what happened last time—"

"Mom! He needs us."

"He’s an _angel_ , Claire.”

"Not any more," she whispered.

"He doesn’t need us," Amelia continued, as if her daughter hadn’t spoken.

"How did you know that?" Castiel asked, the phone in his hand long forgotten.

Claire shrugged. “I just know. I think I can feel it – like something in you is missing.”

"My grace," Castiel said softly, and then he did cry. He cried for his brothers and for his sisters, for he had let them down. He cried for Sam and for Dean, for he was no use to them now. But he did not cry for himself, for he did not deserve his self pity or the sympathy of the young girl he had inhabited for so brief a time, but who still felt connected to him in a way that ran far deeper than the blood she shared with her father.

At the other end of the phone Dean listened to Castiel’s sobs, simultaneously hating himself for not being there and being grateful that he wasn’t, because he didn’t think he had the strength to see his angel, a blinding light of life and death, broken because he cared too much for a human who didn’t deserve it.


End file.
